


Grace in the Fall

by RosieTwiggs



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Canon Compliant, Extended Scene, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-17 12:35:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14189094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosieTwiggs/pseuds/RosieTwiggs
Summary: The fire and brimstone sermons of his youth would have had him believe that such a thing was impossible, but there is something holy in the way Thomas’s fingers grip his shoulders, and finally stroke up to his cheeks.





	Grace in the Fall

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HighSeasMarginalia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HighSeasMarginalia/gifts).



> This was a gift for tikkunolamorgtfo on tumblr.

“Did you just ask my  _father_...” Thomas huffs out a laugh that sounds both incredulous and resigned, “to leave his  _own_ house?”

It is a sign of how shaken he is, how out of his element, that it doesn’t even occur to James until Thomas says it that that is precisely what he’s done.

All at once shame overtakes him. God. He’d asked the man to leave his own house. In the middle of dinner. He’d stood up, and in front of Thomas, and Miranda, and God himself for all he knew, had demanded that Alfred Hamilton leave his own house.

No matter the reasoning, it is unforgivable. How can he possibly apologize for this? The horror sets in along with the truth. He’d just destroyed everything his friend had been working so hard to build in a single moment. 

Indeed, Thomas is already listing the ways in which his father will be exacting revenge on them. It is more than he can stand, that _he_ is the one responsible for this. 

And yet.

_And yet..._

Rage is still coursing through him. Rage that  _anyone_ could speak to Thomas so, to Miranda. That anyone could be so  _blind_ , so  _pig-headed_  as to discount everything Thomas had been saying. The insults to his character, both declared and unspoken, were of such an intolerable quality, that James had found himself unable to remain silent. 

It was as Admiral Hennessy had told him once. A wild darkness that he had no control of overtook him - his good sense abandoned him, leaving him with nothing but his anger.

He cannot find fault in his own actions, not when those of Lord Hamilton were so reprehensible, but Thomas is angry, and James doesn’t know how to bear that.

“...And now you’re in the line of fire.” 

His voice is quiet, resolute, but James cannot find it in himself to care about the perceived danger to himself. He has to explain - he  _must_ \- so he sets his will like a stone in a river.

“They can say what they like about you...” and the very thought is anathema to every belief he has.  _They can’t. They won’t. I will stop them._  He finally looks up, determination blazing in his chest. “But you’re a good man.” 

_The best man._

“More people should say that.”

Something in his friend’s eyes makes James think that everything might be alright, that perhaps they will make it through this if he can just make Thomas understand this  _one_ thing. So he continues.

"...and someone should be willing to defend it.”

The next part of that sentence goes unsaid, but he’s sure they all hear it.  _Someone like me._

The silence seems to stretch on forever. The fire crackles in the grate and he is suddenly wholly focused on how the candlelight glints off of his salad fork. He’s said what he intended to say, and while his anger is still striking a frantic tattoo in his veins, it’s settled now into something...  _different_ , something he’s felt before, but only ever around Thomas. Only ever in moments like these - a clash of their wills, an honest revelation, a glance that renders James transparent and as open as the books on Thomas’s desk.

At last, slowly, Thomas stands and comes around the table to stand before him. He follows the movement warily. Something feels off, the look Thomas is giving him is not one of anger, or even of gratitude, it’s-

He always forgets, somehow, just how tall Thomas is until he’s standing right next to him. For some reason, in his mind, Thomas is smaller, gentler, someone who must be protected. But now he looks up into his eyes ( _so very blue_ ) and cannot, for the life of him, imagine why he should think such a thing. Thomas is as large as his ideas, as his heart. And he is made entirely of the stuff great men are made of. 

A hand settles on his shoulder, and for a moment James thinks he will embrace him. But then he finally recognizes the look in Thomas’s eyes and his world shifts and rolls like a ship caught in a storm.

It’s desire.

When Thomas moves in, it’s only reflexes born of years of conditioning that make him instinctively flinch back. This is... not what he ever expected. This is nothing like what he’d ever dreamed he’d find here.

But  _oh_.

Thomas is leaning in once again, his eyes asking,  _begging_ James to  _trust him_.

He has found so much of himself since he met Thomas Hamilton. Discovered parts of himself he’d never known existed. And now something new awaits only a breath away, a breath that contains multitudes, a life - one he never could have imagined. The rage in him promises to settle at last, to be tamed by the man who has taken hold of his heart so very firmly if only he’ll trust him as he has until now.

And so James trusts him and lets himself fall.

He finds grace in Thomas Hamilton’s lips. The fire and brimstone sermons of his youth would have had him believe that such a thing was impossible, but there is something holy in the way Thomas’s fingers grip his shoulders, and finally stroke up to his cheeks. His heart is beating in his throat, and when Thomas sucks gently on his lip, a shiver runs through him, a call to action. His hands move of their own accord, coming up to embrace him, to pull him closer.

He has found so much of himself since he met Thomas Hamilton, but he had never expected to find a heart that complemented his own so completely. The soft semi-darkness settles around them and an involuntary sigh escapes him when Thomas finally pulls away, resting his forehead against his own.

Miranda is watching them, and he knows a moment of fear and of shame. But the gentle grip at his neck, the movement of Thomas’s throat as he swallows, appearing to be as shaken as James is…

This is no fall from grace.

But there is endless grace in the fall.

“Stay,” Thomas says. Another shiver runs through him, because this time, there’s another promise in Thomas’s voice, only this promise…

He collects himself, sure of his answer before he speaks.

“Yes.”

If he’s going to fall, he trusts Thomas to catch him.


End file.
